


A Fine-woven Chain

by katajainen



Series: My Season of Kink [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Consent Issues, Consort Bilbo Baggins, Dom Bilbo Baggins, Dom/sub Play, Dubious Consent, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Questionable use of the One Ring, Season of Kink 2018, Some Plot, Sub Thorin Oakenshield, The One Ring is not safe to play with, This turned out stranger than I thought, body jewelry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: The King and his Consort share an experiment on body jewelry at the latter's suggestion, and the following pleasure-play is perhaps not all it seems.





	A Fine-woven Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Fills the 'Nipple Play' square in [my Season of Kink bingo card](https://katajainen.dreamwidth.org/344.html).
> 
> Thanks to saraste for a beta in a hurry, what errors remain are all mine.

‘I thought I would never get you for myself.’ Bilbo let the belt fall to the floor with a heavy metallic clang as the buckle met the stone. ‘Half a day, watching you prance about in all this regal finery… I’ll have you know I had the most inappropriate thoughts.’

‘Finery, you say, yet you seem quite eager to be rid of it,’ Thorin teased, yet did nothing to stop Bilbo as he stood up on tiptoes to push the heavy quilted surcoat off his shoulders.

‘Oh hush, you – I can perfectly well appreciate both the wrapping and the content.’ BIlbo insinuated his hands beneath Thorin’s tunic, dragging his thumbs over his nipples, the pressure through the soft sheer undershirt easily enough to make him gasp. The hobbit repeated the caress, slower this time, lips slightly parted as he gauged his reaction, and while Thorin could have willed himself to stoid stillness, he would not deceive him in this, nor deny himself the pleasure of seeing the sharp blooms of colour on his husband’s cheeks. ‘You don all this frippery,’ Bilbo said slowly, his hands moving beneath the thick woolen cloth, ‘and finery for all the court to see, but you take them off–’ an expressive lift of eyebrows as he removed his hands, stepping minutely back– ‘for me. And I would have you do that now, please.’

When Thorin emerged from his undershirt, he found Bilbo standing at an arm's length, holding a golden chain in his hands, the one he usually wore clipped to his waistcoat pocket. Ever since the battle, Thorin had contemplated shortening it to a length better suited for wearing around the neck, but he kept putting it off. For the time being, he had told himself. For the time being.

From the chain hung a golden ring, smooth and without any decoration or device, and that was what drew his gaze until Bilbo spoke, and Thorin could tell the hobbit had noted his interest.

‘I would try out something,’ he said, moving his hands further apart until the chain drew taut between them, almost as if measuring something, ‘if you would be amenable.’

‘Present me with this proposal, and I will consider it.’

‘Need I remind you you’re done with court for today?’ Bilbo placed his right hand over Thorin’s heart, thumb flicking the silver ring threaded through his nipple. ‘Now, I wonder if the chain is long enough to pass through both of these.’

‘Perhaps – but why?’ Thorin asked, unable to ignore how Bilbo’s continued stroking at his chest made his cock stir in his trousers.

‘To drag your head from the court–’ BIlbo unclipped the lock and easily fed one end of chain through first one silver ring, then another– ‘to pull you along like a pony on a leash– does it matter?’ When he closed the lock, his ring was left hanging from the chain a finger’s breadth, maybe two, below Thorin’s breastbone.

It weighed. More than Thorin had thought it would; he knew of people who would wear chains and trinkets on their body for private ornamentation, even if it had never been to his own taste, and he was sure that what he felt now was more than a simple length of fine-woven chain and a single smooth ring of gold should weigh. He was suddenly aware of his breathing, of how each exhale loosened the chain and each inhale pulled at it, and how the slow cool weight of gold dragged shivers from his skin.

‘Look at you,’ Bilbo murmured, hooking one finger under the tiny golden links, tugging gently, ‘King Under the Mountain, and yet you would have me lead you on a chain.’ His eyes lit up with a savage gleam. ‘You would follow me, wouldn’t you, even if I call you King.’ He took a step backwards, and the drag on the chain was close enough to pain that Thorin followed, moved with him and eased the sensation to a pleasant tingle.

‘Anywhere,’ he whispered in a low voice.

‘Careful,’ said Bilbo, and he wasn’t smiling. ‘I might hold you onto that, my liege.’

‘And I would be glad to be so beholden.’

‘You and your oaths,’ Bilbo scoffed. ‘Follow me here, then–’ he walked backwards to the bed– ‘because I know that’s what was on your mind. But if you would truly be mine to command–’ he stood at the foot of the bed and paused to consider– ‘I would begin simple. I would ask you to kneel.’ He looked at him with his chin tilted up and twisted the chain around his finger, hiding the ring in the palm of his hand; the pull of it was but a slight pinch that yet burned so sweetly under Thorin’s skin. ‘Yes,’ Bilbo said, and there was a hint of steel in his voice now. ‘On your knees. That’s what I would command.’

Slowly, all the while holding his gaze, Thorin lowered himself to the floor, and looked up to him without speaking.

‘Undress me, please.’ The words were phrased like a request without being one. Bilbo released the chain to hold out his arms, and Thorin felt his nipples buzz with the absence of tension. He took a deep breath, and Bilbo’s ring moved in its chain against his skin. The metal felt cool to the touch, and he felt a brief impulse to reach out and touch it, but the temptation passed quickly. It was not his to handle, even if the weight of it was suspended from his flesh.

One by one, he undid the fine golden buttons of Bilbo’s red velvet jacket, longer in hem than the one he had worn on the long road to the Mountain, but still distinctly hobbitish in cut. His husband turned in place to allow him to pull the garment off him.

‘Give it to me.’ With an uncharacteristic nonchalance, Bilbo tossed the jacket to the chair by the bed where it landed in a heap. ‘Waistcoat then.’ Deep blue. Smaller buttons. Closer to his warm skin. Thorin leaned in as his fingers worked the buttons, the tip of his nose nearly brushing at the crisp white of BIlbo’s shirt front. The waistcoat went with the jacket, and then Thorin was pushing the suspenders off Bilbo’s shoulders one by one. ‘Leave the shirt,’ his husband said, before unbuttoning the trousers himself and stepping smartly out of them as they pooled around his ankles. The shirttails were long enough to cover him to mid-thigh, but not heavy enough to quite disguise his arousal. Thorin swayed slightly forward in spite of himself, the anticipation of taste wetting his mouth.

‘You would have that, would you?’ said BIlbo. ‘Yes–’ he tilted Thorin’s chin up with one hand, thumb stroking a passing caress over his lips– ‘I think I would have your mouth. But first–’

He took hold of the chain anew, and at first Thorin thought he meant simply to pull him closer, as if he would need any more coaxing. Bilbo rested his hand over the ring in its chain. Then, with the corners of his mouth turning up in a small secretive smile, he crooked his forefinger up and through the band of gold, and was gone.

It had been some time since Thorin had last seen him do this, and never, he thought, never this close. He jerked back in surprise, only to hiss in pain when the chain drew taut and yanked at his nipples. The tension eased immediately; Bilbo must have followed his movement.

‘Peace, Thorin,’ said a disembodied voice in front of him. ‘I’m still here.’ A small hand stroked at his hair, dug in and rubbed at his scalp. The chain tugged again, but gently. There was a shuffling sound and Thorin could see a slight indentation on the bedcovers where someone might have been sitting. ‘Now,’ said the voice. ‘Your mouth, please.’

It was no request.

If Thorin closed his eyes, it was as if he was blindfolded, as he proceeded by feel, pushing hands up over the warm smooth shape of Bilbo’s thighs and beneath his shirt, seeking out  the heady taste of his arousal, sliding hard and silken between his lips to press against the roof of his mouth.

There was a constant pull on the chain now, more to his right than to his left, ebbing and flowing through the movement of his breathing, and his nipples were beginning to ache with it. He shifted his weight to his haunches, to better spread his legs, the slight extra tug making his cock throb against the placket of his trousers.

‘You like it, do you now?’ Asked Bilbo’s voice, half-laughing. A soft hand pressed to the left side of his chest, fondling at it, deliberately rubbing one finger over the very tip of his nipple. Thorin groaned around his mouthful, and the voice giggled softly. ‘How does it feel?’ it said. ‘They’ve gone such a lovely deep colour, and so big, too.’ The finger circled around the swollen nub now, slow and maddening. ‘Are they tender?’ Without any more warning, two fingers pinched hard, and Thorin let out a broken muffled cry.

‘That much?’ said the voice, and for all its softness, there was a teasing, taunting undertone to it. Thorin pulled his head back, freeing his mouth.

‘Please, let me see you,’ he pleaded, staring hard at the apparently empty bed before him. There was a shift in the chain, and looking down, it was the strangest thing to see the golden links shimmer into nothingness at the place where he could feel the warmth of a small hand pressed against his chest.

‘Why?’ Asked the voice. ‘You’ve worn a blindfold before, you’ve _enjoyed_ wearing a blindfold before – how is this any different?’

‘It’s… unsettling,’ Thorin managed, ‘to feel you with my hands–’ he stroked at the soft inside of Bilbo’s thigh– ‘and to see nothing.’ More than that he could not say, or would not. That there was a strange new quality to Bilbo’s voice, one he could not remember hearing in the Elvenking’s dungeons – or perhaps he had heard it then, but not recognized. Now he did, and it reminded him of the golden ghost-voice that still haunted his darkest dreams.

‘My liege. My King. My love.’ Gentle fingers carded through his hair, and Thorin could feel warm breath against his scalp, the softest of kisses. ‘You’re thinking too much. I can almost hear you.’ A pause, the length of a shrug. ‘Very well.’

Thorin blinked, and his husband was sitting before him. He should have looked… silly, or endearing, sitting on the edge of the bed in only his shirt. But Thorin’s eye was drawn to the open vee of his bare thighs, to his cock standing plump and pink between them, glistening wetly from Thorin’s mouth. His own hardness throbbed and ached in its confines, and he forced himself to look up, to the proud tilt of Bilbo’s head, to his lust-dark, narrowed eyes.

‘Look at the state you’re in,’ his husband murmured, and Thorin shivered at the echo and memory in his voice.

‘And who is to blame?’ he quipped back, the attempt at levity falling flat in his own ears. He quickly peeled himself down to his skin, only to hesitate at the foot of the bed.

Bilbo shuffled backwards until he was sitting at the middle. ‘Come here,’ he said, and it was a request, even if not phrased as such. Gratefully, Thorin sank into his arms, pressing him down with sweet, lingering kisses on his mouth and down the column of his neck; both a welcome interlude and a promise of things to come.

‘I want to ask you something,’ Bilbo said after a moment, his fingers trailing softly down his back. Thorin hummed affirmative into the crook of his neck. ‘You said it felt unsettling – me wearing the ring – but would you not reconsider it. For me?’ He paused, and Thorin propped himself on his elbows on the bed to look down at him. Bilbo was worrying at his lower lip, already pink from kissing. ‘Because I’ve thought about it… the time you all were held prisoner, and how I wanted to comfort you with more than words, but could not. It’s not the same, I know,’ he hurried on, ‘but I would try. Please?’

He did not ask if Thorin was afraid, perhaps because he knew he would not get an honest answer; Thorin still had some of his pride. In the end, he nodded slowly, if only for the sight of a predatory grin flashing on his husband’s face.

‘You’ll tell me to stop, like before, yes?’

‘I will.’

‘Excellent.’ Bilbo reached up to kiss him. ‘Roll over, though. I want to be on top for this.’

Bilbo straddling his lap was soft perfection, the smooth curve of his behind settling tantalizingly against his hardness. Thorin grabbed two full handfuls and pulled him closer as he pushed his hips up, his cock sliding over the cleft and up against the root of Bilbo’s cock.

‘Yes,’ his husband gasped, both hands braced on his shoulders. ‘Yes, good. That’s good.’ His left hand slipped down over Thorin’s chest. ‘Keep your hands there, please.’ Thorin gripped firmer at the soft flesh before fully willing it, and his eyes were drawn to Bilbo’s hand, resting over a cool band of gold that pressed into his chest.

‘That’s it,’ Bilbo murmured, rocking against his cock, dark eyes half-lidded, a pink flush creeping down his neck and chest. He kept toying with the ring, holding it between his fingertips to pull at the chain, until – and Thorin could not tell if it was an accident – he slipped it on once more.

‘Please,’ said a voice from the air. ‘Consider it. Imagine–’ the voice broke as their cocks dragged together– ‘if I had found only your key… only the key to your prison… what would I have done to you then.’

Thorin tried, imagined his desperate solitude interrupted by– by this. It was a good thought, a heady thought that made him thrust his hips up harder, faster, until they were both gasping. And the chain between them echoed the movement, pulling out his pleasure in sharp bouts and reeling it in, coiling it down where he was hard and pushing against smooth heated skin. His nipples felt like double their size, throbbing with his heartbeat. On impulse, Thorin lifted his hand to cup the side of Bilbo’s face.

The chain jerked taut, the sudden sharp sting making Thorin arch off the bed, the gentle gesture interrupted, seizing the hand pulling at the metal on his chest, forcing it to yield with the sheer strength of his arm.

‘Stop,’ said the voice. ‘You will not move your hands.’ It was the voice of his beloved, yet it rang with such undisputed authority that Thorin found himself compelled, his grip loosening, his hand moving of its own volition back to its designated place.

‘Yes,’ murmured the voice. ‘It’s so good, you’re so good.’ There was a weight upon his chest now, a small soft hand holding him in place, warm sweaty skin and sleek cool metal.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, speaking slowly, as if through thick molasses, ‘I should not have laid my hand on you.’ Never, he had sworn to himself, never again.

‘You didn’t hurt me.’ The voice was calm, the hand on his chest soothing. ‘Let’s just keep going.’

They did, and Thorin closed his eyes tight, surrendering himself to the feel of the body moving on top of him, the hard, heated arousal rubbing against his own, the soft thighs bracketing his hips, the mouth that whispered senseless benediction against his collarbone. The teasing brush of lips moved lower and Thorin’s breath shuddered in his chest with anticipation, all air punched out of him as Bilbo’s tongue flickered over his swollen nipple, the soft huff of laughter passing over wet, too-sensitive skin plenty enough to make his cock jump.

There was little enough he could do to reciprocate; he could not move his hands away from where they were, but what about _closer?_ With each upward roll of his hips, Thorin pressed his fingers firmer into the yielding flesh beneath them, insinuating them into the smooth-skinned cleft between the two soft globes, pulling them slightly apart.

‘Devious,’ giggled Bilbo’s voice against his skin, pressing the word against his chest with a kiss. ‘You can move them there. That’s _definitely_ allowed.’ He whimpered as Thorin put word to deed and passed one finger lightly over his entrance. ‘Please– oh please keep doing that.’ And if Thorin did as he pleaded, it was, he felt, less because he was commanded, and more because of the small shuddering sobs he could draw from Bilbo’s lips as he rubbed his finger over the tight little pucker of muscle and skin.

Their love-making began to lose all rhythm, falling into frantic urgency; Bilbo’s small empty hand was gripping his shoulder with desperate strength, and Thorin could feel the warm gusts of his breath against the side of his face. Each touch on his throbbing nipples, be it by accident or design, was dancing on the precipice of too much, but the feverish rut and grind of their bodies was too little, too slow to ease the need that was stoked ever higher within him.

Thorin could not use his hands, but he had not been commanded to silence. ‘Please,' he gasped. ‘I need–’ _your hands your mouth your hole–_ ‘release. Please, anything!’

There was a pause, but as Thorin dared to peek, he still appeared to be alone, hands clutching at empty air, his cock painfully hard and curving against his stomach, the ruddy head wet and gleaming.

‘Yes,’ said a breathless voice from the air. ‘Yes. I think I’ll need two hands.’

And then Thorin was holding his husband, one hand on his hip, the other teasingly digging between his soft buttocks. He pressed a finger against his hole, and Bilbo tensed on top of him, then shuddered. ‘Hands,’ he said, breathing hard, ‘definitely hands. Quicker.’

The back of Thorin’s head hit the mattress with a thump as Bilbo gripped his cock and started to work on it, expertly swiveling his palm over the leaking tip with each upward pass, his other hand fondling his stones, then pressing firmly behind them, rubbing with slim strong fingers until Thorin was keening with the twofold sensation. And yet, it still wasn’t enough.

‘Thorin. Love. Look at me.’ Thorin opened his eyes, and saw Bilbo perched in his lap, leaning forward; flushed and mussed, with an avid look to his darkened eyes and parted lips. ‘Would you touch yourself for me? Your chest, your nipples; touch them and tell me how they feel.’

Hesitantly, Thorin brought his hands to his chest, drawing a sharp breath when they first grazed his nipples. ‘Tender,’ he said. ‘Warm. Very warm. Like they’re twice bigger than usual.’ He brushed his thumbs over the dark swollen nubs and moaned as Bilbo’s hand flew over his cock.

‘Good,’ his husband breathed. ‘Will you– can you– pinch them for me? Or just– hold them between two fingers – you have such lovely fingers – and roll– yes.’

Thorin writhed underneath him, his body ablaze from his chest down to his groin, his nipples sparking points of heat fanning the flame below. Dimly, he felt Bilbo’s weight lift off him, looked and saw him kneeling between his legs. Their eyes met the moment BIlbo dipped his head and pressed his thumb into the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock, right below the head, and passed the flat of his tongue over the slit. With rough cry that broke his voice, Thorin came in long white ropes over Bilbo’s chin and his own stomach, in seemingly endless bursts that left him shuddering and panting.

A warm soft weight settled on top of him. Feebly, he lifted a hand, resting it on Bilbo’s back. ‘You–- did you–’

‘Yes– yes, I did. It was, well, quick, with the display you gave.’

And as they rested there, and their breaths evened out, Bilbo’s ring still lay between them in its chain, a smooth circle of gold heavier than it should be, resting quiescent next to their fast-beating hearts.


End file.
